I talked to my doctor about my new research project involving the EEG readings yesterday. He thought it was quite interesting. He was able to tell me that conventional meditation doesn’t work with people with PTSD like it does with others because of the intrusive memories – the problem I’ve been having, exactly. He did say that I’m actually doing what meditation accomplishes when I climb, though. “You’re using motor functions, your emotional attention is focused, and you’re concentrating on one thing with your thoughts, right? Well, then, you’re basically accomplishing the same thing. You’ve got all three components of your brain in there, and you can’t focus on anything else, right? You just have to go through a different door to get there. And climbing has been working pretty well for you. It’d be interesting to see what the EEG says when you’re climbing. Your alpha waves would probably be…well, we’ll wait and see. We’ll see what it says. I’d be interested to see…” He mentioned a meditation app called Head Space, because his wife is now the Chair of the Pediatric Department as of the other day and she went to a meeting on meditation and doctor burnout. Evidently, that had been mentioned there. I don’t know what I’m meant to be in this life, but it’s sure fun exploring the possibilities!!! I kind of think I’m one of those Wanderers, not by choice, but by circumstance, because I had plenty of plans to be and do and see all kinds of things in my life, and none of them have panned out. Yet. I’m a climber. That’s all I know. I’ve been blessed with great intellectual powers and life has dealt me a hand of mental illness that prevents me from being in a conventional position with those intellectual powers, but that’s okay. I have climbing!!!
Content Rating PG, for the most part
I try to keep the content of my posts in the PG range (meaning that maybe your 13-year-old should not read it... Just kidding!) - you know, something I could get away with tastefully in the town square without getting lynched, tarred-and-feathered, or hung (and something my mother would NOT wash my mouth out with soap for). As far as what age you have to be to understand some of the subtleties of my humor in writing and/or speaking, well... That may vary. A lot.